Thackeray is all about his legacy

The death of Bal Thackeray last week and the subsequent outpouring of largely uncritical analysis tells us at least one thing about ourselves in India today: We are so afraid of shining the light and examining our subject, warts and all, or so wary of upsetting the apple cart of privilege, that we would rather hide behind a trumped-up cloak called the middle ground.

The press must, rightfully, defend its sacrosanct spaces and prevent both error and virulent opinion from contaminating them. But when lead commentators begin to smoothen the rough edges of despotism and demagoguery and make a virtue out of banality, then it’s surely time to reinvent Ram, Ravan as well as the Lakshman rekha.

Bal Thackeray will suffice as our most recent example. The man never fought shy of announcing that he thought well of Hitler, or that he supported Indira Gandhi’s excesses during the Emergency. There were several other deeply disturbing, and ultimately self-defeating, aspects of his politics, such as the “sons-of-the-soil” theory, which gave precedence to some kinds of Indians over others and which he and his acolytes in the Shiv Sena implemented with such reverential clarity.

As if on cue, the overwhelming impression left behind by the press coverage of Thackeray’s permanent departure to Never-Never Land was that this beloved son of India’s appeal cut across caste, class and region.

Nothing could be further from the truth. Bal Thackeray was the type who could put the RSS to shame. After Mahatma Gandhi was assassinated, the RSS sought to disown Nathuram Godse because they realised the damage he had done to their cause by antagonising the centre-right Indian. Gandhi’s killing at Godse’s hands, in fact, actually staunched the blood-letting that continued to devastate the country in Partition’s wake. Vallabhbhai Patel and Jawaharlal Nehru mourned the death of a great soul, and at least temporarily, promised to work together for the sake of India.

But Thackeray had no time for such silly, unifying gestures. Instead, he looked for the perfect purification rite, cleansing Hindu from Muslim, separating Maharashtrian from Tamilians and Malayalis and later, people from Uttar Pradesh and Bihar. The Partition project had to be taken to its logical end, which was why the “Pakistani”— cricketer or otherwise— would become the permanent enemy. As for the “Bangladeshi” slum dweller, he was Muslim, a foreigner as well as poor, which made it easier to evict him.

Thackeray’s sense of self was so strong, it led him to believe he was not only the centre of the universe, he was the universe. Ram Gopal Varma, the film-maker, told ‘Delhi Times’ the other day that Thackeray was such a cool guy, he had used some of his lines for Amitabh Bachhan’s role in his film Sarkar: “I am going to do what I’m going to do and to hell with the rest.”

Sanjay Raut, the Shiv Sena leader, recently explained the Thackeray school of strategic thought to some pesky journalists who persisted in asking why a gaggle of Sainiks had pushed the police to arrest a girl because she posted something on Facebook—without naming Thackeray — and vandalised her uncle’s clinic: “If she has the freedom to say what she wants, then we have the freedom to also do what we have to.”

Thackeray sought to make remake Mumbai in his own image and used mob violence to do it. Bombay was once India’s most cosmopolitan city, its mercantile character of co-dependence and compromise fusing with the nationalist freedom movement as well as with its pre-colonial freedom of spirit to make it truly unique. Certainly, Thackeray deepened the federal yearning in India’s provinces by branding the state with his unique brand of politics. But instead of reaching out and building bridges with different constituencies, Thackeray made a fetish of compartmentalising syncretic traditions. When things broke, he applauded. He got the attention that he wanted.

This, then, is the question India must answer: can it allow the idea of a diverse republic to be hijacked by a monochromatic leader? Maharashtra chief minister Prithviraj Chavan likely allowed a state funeral to take place — Gangubai Hangal and Bhimsen Joshi also got state funerals— not only because he didn’t want trouble on his hands, but also because he realised Thackeray had changed Maharashtra, for better or for worse.

Chavan must now reclaim the middle path not only for personal or party prestige, but also because it allows people like us to get off the apple cart of fawning favour and stand up for what is right. Bal Thackeray’s supporters and Narendra Modi’s cohorts should have a voice, as long as it conforms to the rule of law. Only then will the banal give way to the complex, the despot to the democrat. Only then will the middle ground grow.

DISCLAIMER : Views expressed above are the author's own.

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Jyoti Malhotra would like to wake to the sounds of classical music, but there are the kids to get ready for school. Over the whirlwind that comprises the following 24 hours, she finds time to dream about building the Republic of Saket, re-reading Haroun and the Sea of Stories and perchance, creating a cookbook that would chart Narayani Kutty Unnikrishnan's journey from the Malabar uplands to Moscow.

Jyoti Malhotra would like to wake to the sounds of classical music, but there are the kids to get ready for school. Over the whirlwind that comprises the fo. . .